Silver Eyes
by KoishNoish
Summary: He's got a spark in his eye. And it's going out. - AU One Shot focusing on Draco Malfoy and his life. Is not compatable with DH Epilogue.


_Basically an idea I had. For me Rowling's best characters are the ones she writes the least about. I find Harry Potter, as a character, really boring because he's so predictable. I find Voldermort meh because we learn so much about him. Bellatrix is interesting because there's so much in the background. Snape's great because he's a deep character you might not have even considered. Draco's amazing because he's a character who probably goes through the most dramatic change out of any character and I love him._

 **AU - I don't own the rights to Harry Potter.**

 **-** **0-**

He looks in the mirror and smirks, his eyes glint a daring silver, his hair only adding a subtle edge to the sharpness his eyes portray. He knows he's perfect, father tells him so, mother's worried, pointlessly, Draco Malfoy already knows he's destined for greatness, as all Malfoy's are. He'll be a king amongst them, he'll be half surprised if he's not welcomed with a royal procession.

He knows Harry Potter will be there this year, father's told him often enough, he wants Draco to act fast and make the boy a close ally, Draco's only happy to oblige. Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, that's a pair the world should fear. Father's completely right, being friend with _The Boy Who Lived_ certainly lends advantages.

It's going to be the perfect year.

 **-0-**

He's sharp, maybe actually sharper than last year but in those silver eyes there's a glint of something malicious now. He _hates_ Harry Potter, the git. He tried, for a little, but the moment the idiot threw his lot in with _Weasley_ Draco knew there was no going back.

How embarrassing.

Beaten out by a ginger pauper hardly able to afford two rocks to bang together.

Father had been… displeased. Not only had Draco failed to befriend Harry Potter but his results had landed him fifth in the year behind three Ravenclaw ponces and a Gryffindor Mudblood. Draco was only thankful the scars had faded quickly.

Draco had beaten himself up over the entire year. He had been lacking in his studies, he'd been foolish, there were far more mudbloods than he ever expected, far less respect than he'd expected, it'd thrown him off guard. He'd lacked focus.

Then there was that entire fiasco with the house cup. What a load of bollocks. Potter and his bumbling buffoons he calls _friends_ almost get themselves killed and go to an explicitly forbidden area and get _rewarded_ for the action? Earlier that year they were helping the oaf in his hut hide an illegal _Dragon_ on the grounds and had been given hardly more than a slap on the wrist.

And fucking _Longbottom_ had clinched the victory?

Father had been extremely upset at that information.

He was to work harder this year, be better, be the best, do the name proud. Father seemed oddly smug about something regarding this year. Draco had asked what his father was so giddy about but had only gotten the response ' _you'll see_ '.

Regardless, this year would be better, he'd crush Potter and his failure of a fan club and set things straight.

 **-0-**

Draco wonders whether his eyes always held that spark of hatred, of loathing. He doesn't remember it from before but maybe it'd always been there, mixed with the determination to be better, to reach higher. He'd done better in second year. Not good enough. Fourth in the year. And somehow Gryffindor's little Mudblood, despite being paralysed for a fair amount of time, had somehow still managed to place first in the year.

Maybe it'd been because of Quidditch? Not that that had helped seeing as father had hardly seemed pleased when Draco had told him they came second… to _Gryffindor_.

Maybe he'd been caught up in the entire ' _Slytherin's Heir'_ debacle and enjoying Saint Potter getting knocked down a couple of pegs as everyone called him the _Heir of Slytherin_. Draco knew it wasn't pathetic Potter but still enjoyed stirring the pot regardless, it was nice to see Harry Potter get spat on by his own house. Of course that'd all gone pear shaped when suddenly it became apparent that not only had Potter managed to kill _a Basalisk_ but then he'd emerged virtually unharmed and with the little ginger bitch under arm.

What.

A.

Fucking.

Hero.

Draco didn't think he'd ever hate someone as much as he hated Harry Potter. Who did he think he was? It was a joke, a grand joke, it had to be, Merlin haunting Draco for shits and giggles. It certainly hadn't felt like giggles when Draco had returned home to see his father's raged face. Twice as many as last year this time, father had been livid about something, something Draco himself didn't understand. He'd mumbled something about an elf and Potter but Draco didn't know the story there.

No matter.

He had to be better.

He couldn't fail, not this time.

Third year was _his_ year.

 **-0-**

There was a fire in those grey eyes, a cold fire Draco was aware was growing within him and he was only so happy to stoke, to raise higher.

She'd hit him.

The thought hadn't stopped since the Mudblood bitch had punched him on the grounds that day. She'd actually laid her filthy grimy fingers on him. He'd burned all the clothes he'd worn that day in order to cleanse himself but somehow it still felt dirty.

What a fiasco third year had been.

After being savagely attacked by that monster, _Fuckbeak_ … or something, Draco had gleefully petitioned to have the beast executed. Justice, finally. Only for the beast to escape on the very day it was supposed to be executed. Draco knew full well who'd rescued it. He didn't know how, he had no idea how, but he _knew_ it was the _The Golden Trio_. Yes, people had actually started calling Potter, the mudblood bitch and the ginger danger zone ' _The Golden Trio_ ' what a joke.

What did that make him?

It made him their open opposition is what it made him, gladly, anything to grab Potter by the throat and throw him off the extremely high podium he'd sat himself on. Hopefully he'd be able to hear the bones crunch as they hit the floor.

He'd come second in the year this time. _Second_. Very far from the standard expected of him. Father hadn't been angry with him. He'd been disappointed. That was far worse, he still had bandages on beneath the sleeves. He didn't have to use a cursed knife.

There was a consensus that something was moving, something was happening, the call Draco had been waiting for. Death Eaters marching at the World Cup, the justice finally being done to the freaks of nature.

But father had told him to move away, to stay out of it, had said _he wasn't ready_.

He was ready.

Granger's hit from last year had only solidified the utter hatred he had for her and her kind, the whole lot of vermin.

But no.

Not now.

Not yet.

Father had been shook over the Dark Mark, had told Draco to think nothing of it, but Draco was perhaps faster than his father gave him credit, he knew something was off. Something was wrong. Whispers amongst the shadows, whispers of the Dark Lord returning.

So why didn't Draco feel happy?

 **-0-**

Grey eyes look back at him. Were they ever silver? Was that just his imagination. There's steel to these eyes, eyes that lock away the pure cold fire that surges beneath him.

He's back.

The Dark Lord has returned.

And nobody knows it. Or at least, not the public. Potter knows it, he screamed it to the heavens over his boyfriend Diggory, the only thing to come out of Hufflepuff ever. Draco wonders if Weasley felt upset that his boyfriend was so upset over another man.

He's back, father confirmed it, although he didn't seem necessarily at ease.

' _There's work to be done, Draco, and before long you'll be at my side and I at his, just as it had been. I just need time.'_

He'd come second again in the year, what fun. Father hadn't thought so.

Potter in the Tri-Wizard Tournament had almost driven Draco to absolute madness. Potter, taking glory, _again_. There was no way that was accidental, it had to be rigged, had to be intentional. Everyone knew the headmaster and Potter were practically in love with one another, it wasn't far from the realm of possibility. Crabbe and Goyle had listened, but they don't really understand, not a brain between the two of them.

The great payoff from all of this, of course, is the Prophet's exposing of Potter and his goody goody headmaster. Draco hadn't felt such joy for some time.

It was a long time coming, a long time in the making, and Prat Potter deserved every last bit of it. It was a shame that Granger and Weasley hadn't been mentioned all that much, Granger definitely needed to be taken down a peg. Draco wasn't sure Weasley could sink much lower.

But it was here. The Dark Lord had returned. He was here. Pureblood supremacy was just around the corner. So where was his excitement? His joy?

What is wrong with him?

 **-0-**

These are the eyes. The eyes of a killer. They have to be. This grey plates of steel will be the eyes that murder Albus Dumbledore, or there will be no Malfoy name. None at all. His heart must be hardened, his mind refined, his very nature altered.

Aunt Bellatrix has been relentless, invading his mind at every moment, torturing him when he fails, repeating over and over and over until she can't even pry a thought from him. She still tortures him though, sometimes makes mother watch. It's worse when the Dark Lord does it though.

Father failed.

It wasn't Draco this time, he knew, it was his _father_ and yet all his punishment meant was a nice cell to sit in. Something drastic had happened over the summer. He hated his father. After all the preaching of superiority, of improving, of failure, it was he who fell the hardest and now Draco lives out his punishment.

" _Kill Albus Dumbledore or you father and your dear mother… die."_

" _As you command, my lord."_

He loves his mother, he even still loves his father… Draco hates him too but somehow he manages to still care if he lives or dies.

The Dark Lord and Bellatrix make more horrific torturers than his father could ever dream. The cuts run deep and the sessions run long and he can still feel the cuts across his back and chest, screaming in protest.

He has to be lethal now.

He's not a child.

It isn't a game.

He's a Death Eater, and he'll kill Albus Dumbledore.

The Mark felt bad but in hindsight it hurt little compared to the rest. The Dark Lord looked horrifically gleeful when Draco screamed before him.

Grades don't matter anymore.

Let Granger have all the top ten places.

Let Potter embark on courageous adventures.

Let Weasley do… whatever he does.

Let Gryffindor win the House Cup.

But Draco would not let Albus Dumbledore live.

 **-0-**

These are broken eyes. Hollow eyes. Dead eyes. There's fire maybe somewhere deep down but it's hard to see. There's blankness there. Deadness. Endlessness.

The family's all together but somehow it's never felt more splintered.

Father made to torture Draco for his failure with Dumbledore but Draco had instead turned the tables.

' _If you ever try that again I'll do to you what you failed to do to Dumbledore.'_

Mother had taken father's side on the issue, of course, looking at Draco as if _he_ were the monster that now lived in the Manor. As if The Dark Lord of Bellatrix weren't the foul stench that plague these halls Draco once called home.

Dumbledore was dead… thanks to Snape.

Why had he hesitated?

Hours upon hours spent looking in a mirror, telling himself he would do it, that he _was_ a killed, that he was the best killer in the school.

But when the time had come he'd faltered, he'd frozen, and he couldn't kill the old bastard, even with Aunt Bellatrix _right there_ watching.

Severus had done it and it had been a gift and a curse. On the one hand, Draco technically succeeded. On the other, it was Snape who'd done the job _not Draco_. The Dark Lord favoured the second approach.

He… hated Voldemort.

He'd never say it to his face and although The Dark Lord was a masterful mind reader Draco had practiced endlessly to make his barriers impenetrable. He couldn't hide everything but he could hide that which he never wanted the Dark Lord to see.

He duelled with Bellatrix every day.

He won yesterday.

He'd earned himself a whole night of torture for his victory.

Even Greyback had been mentioned briefly.

It was only his mother that somehow kept him sane and even then, Draco felt lost.

Mudbloods.

Purebloods.

Halfbloods.

What did it matter?

He'd seen all their blood spilt before the Dark Lord at the dinner table and it all looked the same. It all tasted the same too, according to the werewolves, although Fenrir liked to tell Draco that purebloods had a distinct tinge to them.

He had to get out.

He had to.

But he couldn't, they'd kill his mother and his ever deteriorating father.

Maybe he should just kill Voldemort.

Was that even possible.

 **-0-**

He looks into the mirror over the shoulder of an auror. Those are dead eyes. There's more light than last year but they've seen things, beared through things, that no eyes should ever see.

Draco told his father they shouldn't have come back to the Manor, it was a stupid idea, but father had wanted to collect some _old artifacts_ and the aurors had arrived, arresting all three of them.

Potter had won.

Somehow he'd won.

Draco never would have said it two years prior, but thank Merlin.

It was over.

Maybe.

If somehow they pulled through this then they could return to life. Draco still had a year to sit, maybe he could go back to Hogwarts? He'd be the class Deatheater but who cares? Who cares if he was the best, if he was pureblood, if he had killed muggles on orders from Voldemort?

He didn't have a choice.

He never did.

It was them or him.

His family.

He doesn't feel guilt.

He doesn't regret what he's done.

He doesn't repent.

 **-0-**

Father does.

" _Please, respectful wizards, you know me to be a good man, an honest man. I have even spoken with a great many of you. If the Dark Lord appeared on your doorstep and demanded entry what would you do? I did it to protect my family, to protect the love's of my life."_

It's all shit.

He gets house arrest for five years.

 **-0-**

Mother's case is swift.

Freedom.

It's because of her Harry Potter is still alive.

 **-0-**

The people are angry.

For some reason more people have appeared for Draco than they did for Lucius, maybe they heard the results of his father's trial and now want justice dealt on the son.

They feel robbed.

They think his father should be in Azkaban.

They're right.

" _Draco Malfoy, did you kill fellow wizards?"_

Father had said he'd done so under the Imperius.

" _Yes."_

" _Who?"_

" _I don't know."_

" _How do you not know the names of the wizard's you killed?"_

" _There were too many."_

Draco could hear his mother crying, his father hissing for him to plead innocence.

" _Did you kill any muggles?"_

" _Yes."_

" _I suppose you don't know their names?"_

" _No."_

" _Can you tell us how many you killed?"_

" _Thirty two."_

There had been a miniature uproar. Some called for his death.

" _How many wizards, Mr Malfoy?"_

" _I stopped counting after forty."_

" _And do you regret these actions, Mr Malfoy?"_

" _No."_

Someone had tried to throw a hex there, they were escorted out. In the crowd Draco saw, near the front, the _Golden Trio_. He couldn't care less.

" _Why do you feel no regret for these actions, Mr Malfoy?"_

" _They were necessary to protect my family. They would be dead otherwise."_

" _You understand, Mr Malfoy, that you have admitted to manslaughter and murder?"_

" _Yes."_

" _Very well."_

It's Azkaban.

It had to be.

If it'd been anything different there'd be riots in the street.

Father looks angry but there's no beating this time.

 **-0-**

Mother visits once a month.

Father doesn't visit at all.

Draco goes mad.

A couple of times.

Potter was there once.

Maybe he wasn't.

He snogged Granger.

That was probably a dream.

He snogged Weasley.

That was a nightmare.

No.

It was release.

He'd lived the nightmare.

 **-0-**

He's released.

He's released early.

They say he's twenty five.

Mother died from a rogue Auror who thought they got off too easy.

Father killed himself a week later.

That was two years ago.

In the Prophet it's him that dominates the cover.

Somewhere below there's a piece on Potter and the Weasley girl and their son-to-be.

Most people shout at him.

They hate him.

 **-0-**

He looks into eyes. Eyes that have seen more than himself. They are silver. They are grey. They are empty. There is no spark, or glint, or life. He wonders if maybe he's already dead and this is the afterlife.

Maybe that'd be better.

Someone made him a portrait of his mother.

She hangs where all the past Malfoy patriarchs once sat, all now cleared to the cellar.

She's sad.

Elves with clothes walk the halls cleaning what's already clean.

Father left the company to him.

It runs fine without him.

He doesn't see anyone.

Theo died in the battle.

Pansy was killed in a werewolf hunt.

Goyle drowned in the bath.

Daphne and Blaise married and moved to Venice and told him they never want to see him again.

Astoria. His once betrothed. He doesn't even know what happened to her.

It's empty.

Alone.

Dead.

 **-0-**

" _You understand the risks I'm taking here."_

How did he end up here? McGonagall sits across from him, the many headmasters of days past staring down upon him. Many look displeased. Albus Dumbledore looks happy.

He's been offered the DA job.

He meant to turn this down, to tell the Gryffindor Headmistress to go fuck herself. But he didn't. He's here.

It's a risk. For sure. And Draco can't really work out why she's making it.

" _Yes. It makes me wonder why you made the offer."_

" _I'm hoping you're a changed man. I'm told that you became quite adept in the darker arts."_

" _Very."_

" _So I'm aware."_

She's not an idiot. Draco may have called her that when he was a child but time has moved on. She was never an idiot. But this is an idiot move.

" _This is a bad idea."_

" _I know."_

" _So why offer?"_

He's honestly inquisitive.

" _A past headmaster has great faith in you, Mr Malfoy, and he has never let me down."_

Draco doesn't need to look at Dumbledore to know who it is.

" _And that's it?"_

" _Well, that and the position hasn't been held by any one professor for more than a year since I've been at this school. If this is a mistake, at least it's a short one."_

 **-0-**

There's outrage.

It makes the front page.

For two weeks.

 _Mass Murdering Death Eater Becomes DA at Hogwarts_

The vast emptiness in the hall when McGonegall introduces him is apparent but Draco doesn't mind.

In the mirror there's something.

A spark.

That's a start.


End file.
